Page 107 of Begin Again

Chapter 32

I did something that was long overdue. I called my mother.

Or I tried, anyway. But for a solid hour, I hung up each time I dialed her number.

Dawn had made a point of going for a walk so I could speak with my mom in peace, but somehow I just couldn’t bring myself to let it ring on the other end. What did I even want to say to her? So much had happened between us, that it wouldn’t be enough to say, “Hey, thanks for making my life a living hell these past few years.”

Besides, I’d been thinking about Dawn’s words for days now. If not for that awful experience with Anderson and my mother’s abominable behavior, I never would have moved to Woodshill. And without this new beginning, I never would have made these wonderful friends. I hadn’t ever been in love—and never thought it would happen to me. And I wouldn’t have learned so much about myself, grown so much. Without all these experiences I would not be who I am now. And I kind of liked myself. In other words, things were going well, in a way.

Taking a deep breath, I pressed redial and raised the phone to my year.

Mom picked up.

“Crystal.” As she pronounced my name, a shiver ran down my spine. “I knew you’d call, sooner or later.”

I ignored her pointed remark, even though I wanted to jump through the phone and shake her.

“Hello, Mother,” I said, trying to sound polite. My pulse was racing. “How are you?”

Take small steps, I reminded myself. Don’t put everything on the table all at once.

“How am I supposed to be? You embarrassed me at my own gala! You show up with some random punk, and—”

I barely heard her next words. An unusual calm descended on me. Now I knew I’d make it.

“Mom,” I interrupted.

“I’m talking, Crystal. You asked me a question, so you can listen to the answer.”

“I didn’t call for you to beat me up.” I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling.

“To what do I owe the honor, then?”

“You were expecting me to come to the gala, weren’t you?” I waited for her answer.

None came.

“If you were expecting me, as you yourself said in Lincoln, then how could you allow Russell Anderson to be there?”

She sucked in a breath.

“At first I didn’t want to think about it, you know,” I said. “I wanted to be done with this once and for all. But the more I thought about it—how could you do it, Mom?”

Again, silence.

I cleared my throat. “Russell didn’t rape me. But he abused me. He left a scar on my soul. I told you everything; I trusted you. And what do you do? You invite this man into our home and give him an award in front of my eyes.” I lay my arm over my eyes. I wasn’t going to cry. I just wanted closure, wanted to make her see what she had done to me, make her understand once and for all why I’d left home to make a new life. “How could you do this to me, Mom? I’m your daughter. You’re supposed to protect me, but instead you let me run into an open knife.”

Now my mother snorted.

“You think it was easy for me?” she asked in a quavering voice.

“That’s how it seemed, yes,” I admitted.

“You have no idea how hard it was for me to tolerate having that man in my house!” she hissed.

“Then why didn’t you do something about it?”

She was quiet again.

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